My stomach is clenching so tightly, I feel like I’m going to throw up. Breathe, breathe, breathe, I remind myself. I wipe my sweaty hands on a towel and peer into the mirror. I don’t look any different. But I feel nauseous and clammy and gross.

Relax, RaRa. You are not lying. You are just avoiding a sticky situation.

I straighten my shoulders. That is really all there is to it. There is no way Mommy or Abba will let me go with the girls to Teaneck and there is no way I am missing it. We are at an impasse, and I am just finding the way out.

“Showtime,” I mutter, stepping out of the bathroom and running my hands down the length of my ribbed two-piece outfit. The charcoal gray looks great with my hair, and black tights and booties complete the look. Tiptoeing down the stairs, I grab my Blue Milan jacket and open my mouth. Here goes.

“Going for dinner — Tamara. Love you!” I call out quickly, and hop out the door just as Guy beeps.

Heart pounding, I step quickly toward the car, the metal heel on my booties tapping out the word li-ar li-ar li-ar in rhythm with my heart. Lovely, my shoes have a guilty conscience as well. The door swings open and Tamara’s smiling face is visible from the leather interior.

“Gosh, walk faster. Is someone chasing you?”

I fall into the available seat, slam the door behind me, and resist the urge to shout to Guy, “Drive, drive!”

“Ha, no, just cold.” I glance around at the other girls. Tiffy waves limply, Bina smiles, and Rikki says, “Hey, RaRa,” in a super-sweet tone that sets my nerves on edge.

“Hey all, how’s it going?”

Tamara flips a glossy lock over her shoulder.

“Better, now that you’re here.”

“Awww.” I lean over and give her a hug, Tiffy rolls her eyes.

Yeah, well, get over it. I hug people. I’m a hugger.

“So, where we off to?”

“Mocha Bleu,” Bina says, blushing. I don’t know anything about Teaneck restaurants or why this particular one is embarrassing for Bina, so I just nod.

“Cool.”

The forty-five-minute ride passes quickly, in fact, I am having so much fun that when my phone rings, I almost pick up. Almost. I stare at the name Mommy flashing on my screen and swallow.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Tamara says, tilting her head.

My heart is racing again. I resolutely slip the phone back into my bag. “Nah.”

(Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 736)